Another Turning Point
by Drae
Summary: Draco Malfoy is used to doing whatever will uphold the family honour. What will it take for him to realise he controls his own future? (warning, mild HD slash) COMPLETE
1. How It Started

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, some other very lovely people do.  
  
If the characters are OOC then I'm sorry I tried to make them as real as I could but its difficult when the story doesn't always fit them. I've tried to explain OOC behaviour though.  
  
Well, I hope you like it, and if so please take a minute to review, I'll love you forever if you do. Ooh and thanks to my marvelous friend Donna for introducing me to fanfic, and thanks to Fire for being annoyed when this continued to be unwritten, I told you I'd get round to it eventually.  
  
Enjoy peeps...  
  
Draco's POV  
  
How It Started  
  
There are moments in your life when the decisions you make will affect your entire future. Turning points. Usually people will know the year or even the month. I pin-pointed mine to the hour and had I been in a situation whereby I was aware of, or in fact cared about the time I'd be able to say to the nearest 30 seconds. You could call it an epiphany.  
  
It had started one morning sitting eating breakfast in the great hall. Well technically it had started years and years before, with the first rising of the dark lord. But this was the morning that it all blew up again.  
  
When Voldemort came back to power I knew that was it. This time he'd be the death of my parents, and of me. We had a choice of course, would we be killed fighting for evil, or against it, but that choice wasn't mine. It was my father's, the lives of me and my mother were entirely in his hands. When I had left for school last September he'd started behaving oddly, but it was only the beginning. As the weeks and months passed by I received an increasing number of letters from my mother, she was bored, he was becoming more and more withdrawn. That meant time was running out -soon my fate would be decided.  
  
Then on that morning I got the letter:  
  
My dearest child, He went out last night, its not the first time, but he left about 11 and isn't back yet, I think this is it. He will have decided now, and there's nothing more for us to do, I am in doubt as to whether he'll even return. Our futures are set and I understand that we are living on borrowed time, make the most of what we have left, remember I love you and I'm proud of you. Trust no-one. Forever, Mum x  
  
So that was it. Midnight disappearances could only mean one thing, -he'd chosen the dark side, inevitably the losing side. I've seen the muggle films, (though if anyone found out it would ruin my reputation...) and the bad guys are always infinitely cooler, but they always lose. This was no spaghetti western, or James Bond thriller though. Instead, it was my life.  
  
I got wrong in Transfiguration first lesson. Not, as per usual, for talking and messing around, quite the opposite in fact, I wasn't listening. It all seemed so futile though. Why would I need to know how the turn a tennis ball into a gerbil (why would anyone ever want to know that ?!) when soon I would die horribly at the hands of the dark lord himself, it was very likely because he was into ritual slaughtering and self, or self's family as the case may be, sacrifice.  
  
I never thought about whether I wanted to be a Death Eater, it's one of those things people expected me to have pondered greatly, but it wasn't my decision, if father said I was to be one I would be one, if he didn't I wouldn't. It was out of my hands so there was no point in worrying my pretty little head about it. When I did have to think about it I neither despised the idea nor loved it, it would just be another thing I had to do for the family name. Like spying on the neighbours while out playing or pretending not to notice when my father had artefacts of dark magic in the house. I could see that McGonagall wanted to ask if I was OK but I left the lesson before she had a chance.  
  
I couldn't face Care of Magical Creatures, all those smug Gryffindors going out of their way to make me feel two inches tall, and Potter taunting me, perfect Potter with his perfect life, except it wasn't perfect. It crossed my mind briefly that maybe he had it tougher than me, but that thought floated away again and I forgot about it for the time being. I had a headache so I headed for the hospital wing with the intention of getting some painkillers and retiring to my dormitory for some rest. However, when I arrived a scene of pandemonium met me. A group of second years were being treated for various curses after some kind of fight, but that end of the ward was turning into a riot as they clearly hadn't resolved the issues. I could tell I'd be waiting for a while. I turned to leave feeling the noise wasn't going to help my headache, when I saw Hermione Granger sitting on one of the beds crying, and I mean really crying. Sobbing so loud you would think the world was ending type crying. I noted the absence of dumb and dumber, and under normal circumstances I would have made some scathing remark about love triangles always ending in tears. But the sheer intensity of her crying coupled with my melancholy mood stopped me and instead I found myself asking her what was wrong.  
  
She tried to speak a few times but it was all drowned out by her persistent sobbing so I gently tried to remove the piece of parchment from her hand that she was clutching in a desperate manner but she snatched it back. The action did however, bring her to her senses and she was able to compose herself somewhat. She explained that the letter was from the Ministry, her parents were missing and were suspected to be among the first hostages of the Death Eaters. She would have broken down crying again if it hadn't been for the look of pure horror on my face, the colour must've drained right from it and I felt dizzy and faint, and vaguely sick. But from the bottom of my stomach grew a rising heat, anger. The night my father sneaks out and doesn't return two muggles with a witch for a daughter went missing, and I Draco Malfoy was responsible. The number of times I had complained to my father about her was infinite.  
  
I saw red. 


	2. Trying To Understand

Disclaimer: They aren't mine, and I'm not making money from them, nor do I want to. I would like money of course, but I aim to get it in other ways, such as by getting a job, or whinging at my parents, certainly not by ripping off other people's inventions.  
  
A/N : Well, after all that time here's chapter two, I already had it written just not typed up. Though I changed a lot of it when I was typing, the gist is still the same though. Sorry for the wait, though it seems I only have two people reading this but never mind. Just if you do read it PLEASE review because I crave attention. (Thanks by the way to my lovely reviewers who already reviewed. You truly are wonderful people, and when I take over the world you will be rewarded for you loveliness)  
  
This one from Hermione's point of view, it tells the next bit of the story and has a bit of her opinions on the world, well they're opinions I think she should have actually, the careful thought in them seems to suit her. Draco could be constituted as out of character, but I still maintain that he IS in character, just the side of his character that no-one sees. Ugh, enough ramble here's the story:  
Trying To Understand  
  
He went so white, I've never seen anything like it in all my life. Then suddenly there was this pause and I looked at his eyes and they were weird, as if there was no-one behind them. Then they flashed with an angry fire and he ran. Like lightening away from me. I don't know why I followed him but something made me, it was instinctive. And suddenly the stuff with my parents wasn't so important, there was nothing I could do about that so I didn't need to worry. But here was this boy, barely more than a child and he needed help, I didn't know why or how I just knew I had to help him.  
  
As I was looking for him, following the echoes of his panicked footsteps and the looks of confusion on faces of people I passed (its not every day you see the famous Draco Malfoy show any emotion other than hatred) I thought about what it must be like to be Draco Malfoy. I tried to put myself in his position., I'd heard the rumours and met his father, and the way he behaved all the time with the sarcastic comments and hurtful jokes didn't exactly scream I'm the happiest child alive.  
  
I thought about what it must be like for him now that the dark lord had risen to new strength. It's a well known fact that the Malfoy family are supporters of the dark. He was way more involved than I was, despite the fact my parents were among the first to go missing and I was best friends with the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Everyone Expected To Save The World.  
  
In fact I would say Draco was equally, if not more, involved than Harry Potter himself.  
  
The footsteps had died away now but I went where I'd last heard them hoping that Draco had stopped rather than that I had lost him. The corridor was dim, the windows being on the wrong side of the castle to catch the sunlight, there was a door just ahead and I recognised it as the door to the tallest tower where years before I had gone with Harry to set Norbert free. The door was unlocked and I closed it gently behind me, treading carefully up the stairs trying to be as quiet as possible because I didn't want to scare Draco away. It sank in at this point who exactly I was trying to find and the horror almost made me turn back, but instead I trusted my intuition. Something had made me follow Draco from the hospital wing and it was probably for a reason.  
  
There was another door at the top of the tower leading onto the roof. I pushed it slowly open and looked out. Draco was sitting dead still watching over the lake, his knees were drawn up to his chest with his arms wrapped tightly round them and his chin resting on his knees so he could see over the parapet. He was staring into the distance. I accidently let the door slam shut so I knew he must have heard me. I walked up slowly beside him, making sure he could see out the corner of his eye who exactly it was, giving him every chance to leave if he didn't want to talk to me of all people. But when I crouched down beside him and touched his shoulder he buried his face in his knees and leant on me. I sat down properly next to him and put an arm round his shoulders while he cried, stoking his hair soothingly and waiting until he was calmer. I didn't know whether he wanted to talk or just sit quietly so I didn't prompt him. After a while he ceased crying quite so violently and wiping his face on his sleeve he began to talk. He told me about the letter and his father and why the disappearance of my parents was his fault.  
  
Strangely I didn't feel angry. Like I told him, using a child's petty playground squabbles to play God and choose your victims was not only wrong, its unfair. I was confused, I didn't know who to hate, I couldn't hate Draco because seeing him like that, so helpless and so innocent changed my opinion of him. He wasn't a nice person, he was spoilt and that made him spiteful when he couldn't get his own way, but he certainly wasn't a bad person. But, I couldn't hate his father; Voldemort is as renown for his heartless treatment of his followers as he his of his victims. Someone who willingly crawls back to that must be one very desperate man, cowardly and pitiful but not evil. It occurred to me that perhaps everything should be blamed on Voldemort the epitome of evil.  
  
But... people generally aren't born evil. Tom Riddle was a bright student and while he was able to blindly hate all people of certain breeding at aged 16, was he capable of the same when he was still only 11? This wasn't a new question for me, it puzzled me for years but this was the first time I'd properly considered this, up 'til then it had been a casual thought floating round my head on and off ever since I found out about the wizard world and Lord Voldemort. But after that morning on the roof with Draco the question has never strayed far from my consciousness. People aren't just evil, something or someone has to affect them to make them like that. Happy people don't become evil, only very very unhappy people. Or insane people. But in either case its seems that the person isn't really responsible for their mind set, it must be a pretty dire set of circumstances to affect someone that badly. So maybe everyone who ever put Tom Riddle down, everyone who insulted him, laughed at him and joked about him. All the people who had walked away from him when he was in need. All those people were the ones who had turned Tom Marvolo Riddle into Lord Voldemort. But they couldn't be blamed, how were they to know? Ultimately Voldemort was responsible for his own actions. It took me a long time to realise that and I only did so by looking at Harry.  
  
Harry Potter, the boy who lived. The boy who lost his family when he was too young to understand. Who lived his life with a family that didn't want him. They treat him as a slave. He was shunned all the time when he was so young and so vulnerable. He had an awful time at school and had no friends until he was 11. He never knew what it was to have someone love him the way a mother does, though that was what saved his life. He was expected to save the world, he was wanted dead by the most feared sorcerer of the time, his one chance of happiness was taken from him. He believed that he would be able to leave the Dursleys and live with Sirius. I can only begin to imagine how happy that would have made him. Then all too soon he had that chance torn from him, I imagine it must have been like someone ripping his heart out. He felt responsible for the return of the dark lord and for the deaths of Cedric Diggory and Voldemort's other new victims. But he kept going. In some ways he had had a worse life than Tom Riddle ever had, but he kept going and he never once considered turning to the dark side.That strength of character was amazing especially at such a young age when a lot of his suffering was inflicted when he was too young to comprehend why. It's why he was an infinitely better wizard than Voldemort, and why he was liked by so many people that met him. Despite everything he had to put up with he remained a decent person. Nicer than some people who have very happy lives. He was polite and friendly almost the whole time even to people he didn't know.  
  
But that doesn't make it OK to bully and abuse people, just because one person was able to cope with it. That's the true evil. Its not anyone person but the way they treat each other that is to blame. Peoples' actions rather than the people themselves are evil. There are few people who really understand that. I've found over the years that a lot of people will agree with you if you tell them that. But when push comes to shove a very few of them will echo that knowledge with their actions. People always want revenge, they are sceptical and won't believe it when someone says they're going to change, or they have changed. The only person I can ever recall knowing to act upon this principle, to not give in to hypocrisy, is Professor Dumbledore. The most obvious example that springs to my head is Severus Snape, known Death Eater, but who has Dumbledore's full trust. He's not the only one of course, Rubeus Hagrid and Sirius Black to name but two more, and I'm sure there have been many others.  
  
After Draco had told me that he seemed to calm down more, and at the same time seemed to become aware of where he was, who he was talking to, and what he was saying and as I expected he stopped talking. I could tell there was more, a lot more though I'm not sure I would have wanted to hear it. He became suddenly aware that he was telling his darkest secrets to the one person, well one of the people, he wasn't supposed to tell his secrets to. I was half expecting him to run off again, or even hex me, but instead he just sat in silence. After what seemed like hours but must only have been minutes I spoke again. The similarities of hardship were so obvious to me that I had to say it. I told him:  
  
"Think about Harry."  
  
A/N2: Well now you've read it pretty please review! Or I might set the little people who rideth upon llamas after you. *cackles evilly* I would also like to say that if you don't think that my quality of writing is particularly powerful I whole heartedly agree with you. I read a fic yesterday that really really put mine to shame. The written word has the ability to move you if it is used well, and as brilliant as I think I am (modest too...) I can't imagine anyone crying at my fic, excpet perhaps if it's that awful, but never because its sad. I am truly humbled (which is saying a lot because I'm incredibly egotistical) So I suggest you all go read that fic if you haven't already. Its called "The Unknown Witness" and its by "athena-arena" here have a link to it: 


	3. Leap of Faith

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter concept, characters and related details aren't mine. I'm just playing with them. I'm not making any money or even many reviews from them. Proffesor Weaving is an original character but I don't own her, she owns me.  
  
A/N: ta-da Fire, chapter 3 as promised :D Any peeps reading this could you pretty pretty please review even if it's just to say "I read your fic" coz at the minute I'm feeling very unloved :( (that was your cue to say awww)  
  
This chapter is from Draco's point of view and is dedicated to Nikki, the best mistress a serving wench could hope for.  
  
Leap of Faith  
  
Hermione told me "Harry's always pitied by strangers and he has so much to deal with, he's expected to save the world, but he manages fine and he's happy. It scares me sometimes because I know people can only tolerate so much before they crack and I know that with everything that happens he's that little bit closer to breaking down. Who knows what will happen then. I want to help him, but I can't until he needs help and it'll be too late then. What he needs is to be able to work through his problems, to talk about them and have someone listen. But I know him well enough to know that he wouldn't talk to someone about himself unless, unless he was trying to help them, he's very selfless. I think you should talk to him, he'll tell you about himself to make you feel better and deal with his problems that way. I've thought about it before. I never thought I would ever have the chance to actually share the idea with you though," she laughed then, and I realised it was rather a strange situation. Somehow I felt no resentment anymore though, I don't know why but I felt that there was no reason for me to hate this girl just because of her parentage, it didn't seem to matter. Maybe I was ill, but whatever it was it gave me the chance to see that I could be friends with whoever I wanted and that this 'little swot' was actually a very intelligent and compassionate individual. But all the same... go to Harry Potter for help?! It seemed absurd.  
  
Harry Potter, the annoying little suck-up, teachers' pet always getting his own way. Instead of getting in trouble he got rewarded for breaking rules and putting his life, and the lives of his friends, in danger. The boy who should have had nothing but in actual fact he had everything, and he was always so NICE about it. Unassuming, polite, clever. But what Hermione said made me stop. Maybe he didn't really have everything at all. He should have had nothing and in fact did have nothing. No family, no proper home, no safety or security. He was wanted dead by one of the most powerful wizards ever and everyone expected him to save the world. That's no life for a 15 year old.  
  
There I was, telling my secrets to a Mudblood and feeling sorry for my worst enemy. I should have known something was wrong. It wasn't until later that I found out that my father had been killed thus breaking the magic bond that all Malfoys have. I was no longer bound to his opinions, he always had a way of knowing if I had done something he didn't approve of and this kept me from disobeying him too often. Subconsciously I must have known he couldn't punish me anymore.  
  
Hermione and I went to our next lesson: Defence Against the Dark Arts. I wasn't going to go but Hermione realised the time and stood up to leave. I found myself following her simply because I didn't have anywhere else to go and it was rather cold on that roof. When we got to the lesson it had already started but Professor Weaving didn't seem to mind, she was always rather relaxed about that sort of thing providing all the work got done in the end. That was really just one of the strange things about her, she was the only DADA teacher we had that lasted more than a year, she didn't mind people talking or being late, and she had a really cool name: Professor Aeryn Weaving; she also insisted that the timetable be changed so that we got DADA with the Gryffindors, I never found out why.  
  
Weasley started quizzing Hermione in a particularly loud whisper as soon as she sat down next to him but she shushed him and said something about telling him later, I could have sworn she also said something about making it up to him, but I didn't want to think about that in too much detail.  
  
Potter however, along with half the rest of the class too, was too busy staring at me to take any notice of Granger. I must have looked awful, swollen red eyes from crying, and I dread to think what my hair must have looked like. In my experience the neatly gelled-within-an-inch-of-its-life look doesn't appreciate worried hands being raked through it. I would dearly liked to have run away from the curious stares and hidden in my room, but my dignity was only just hanging on by a thread. Running out of my lesson when I had only just arrived would having shattered the precious little of it I had left. So instead I held my head up high and stalked to the only spare seat at the back of the class, diagonally behind Potter. Had I not been feeling so vulnerable I would have shot death glares at anyone daring to look at me, but I didn't feel up to it that day.  
  
Potter twisted round in his seat to look at me and for a moment he seemed he was going to speak to me, but then Professor Weaving began talking again and his head snapped back to the front. I sat through the lesson staring at the back of his head and thinking about what Hermione had said. I suspected that she may have been being a bit of a double agent, that she thought me helping Harry would help me, the way she was tricking Harry into helping me because it would help him. But that didn't really bother me. The decision whether or not I took her advice didn't seem to be affected by being 'tricked'. It also crossed my mind that perhaps Harry would laugh at me, use the information I could give him to exact his revenge. I wouldn't blame him I had been awful to him over the years; but then again he had been horrible right back, so he didn't need revenge. And anyway he was a Gryffindor for heavens sake. They don't scheme and plot and use people's vulnerability against them. They're good and honest and if they want to hurt someone they'd just hex them outright or something. Sure I would have been fully prepared to attack someone when their back was turned, I probably still would now, but somehow I couldn't imagine perfect Potter doing so. Harry Potter is good and honest and kind; if someone needs his help he'll do his best to help them. That's one of the reasons I hated him, but it was also the reason I decided to trust him in the end. Seemingly of its own accord my hand picked up my quill and scribbled a note on a scrap piece of parchment. "I need your help, I want to trust you. Meet me at 8 in the potions classroom. Tell no-one. DM." I passed the note to him and he read it, he looked at me suspiciously thinking perhaps it was some sort of trick but I guess I must have looked as pathetic as I felt because he simply nodded once and went back to his work.  
  
A/N2: REVIEW!! Please! You can have a carrot if you do! Look at the little review button there, it's so tempting to click on it, go on you know you want to! Please... for me? *Flutters her eyelashes* 


	4. Pain

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I mean no harm by borrowing and maniulating these wonderful characters  
  
A/N: I suppose it's now an AU fic as I failed to get it posted before June 21, but never mind, it was hardly going to happen anway.  
  
This chapter is dedicated to Hina for reviewing all the time without being forced into it by me (ahem, that would be you Fire...)  
  
Sorry peeps if you don't like what I've done, you can always leave me a review saying so *hint hint*. I must warn you that this chapters not very nice and contains nasty self harm. Just so you know...  
  
Pain (Draco's POV)  
  
I was already there at 7:30, I'd checked to make sure there were no detentions that night and I doubted Snape would be around. So I was practically alone.  
  
I pushed the door to behind me and crossed to the far side of the dingy room. Grey stone walls and a low celing, desks packed closely together. I lit the candles as I passed them along the walls but the light they gave off was feeble. If I had wanted to I could have charmed them to be brighter but I liked the room dark, it reflected my mood.  
  
I sat cross legged on a desk oppisite the door my back resting against the cold stone wall, the chill penetrating through my robes and chilling my insides. I slowly unsheathed the dagger I'd brought from my dormitory and tuned it over in my hands. Checking it for flaws, testing the keeness of the blade with my thumb. It was quite small, 9 inches in total, with a 5 inch balde. Made from real silver, quite a simple shape but with an intricit celtic design engraved on the blade. On the hilt was carved a tiny dragon in a circle, in the equivalent place on the opposite side was another circle, this one had my initials envraved in it. It had been a present from my mother when I started Hogwarts. My father never knew of it, it was a private thing between me and my mother. We always stuck together despite the trouble he always seemed to bring on the family.  
  
I layed the knife gently on the desk beside me and rolled up my left sleeve to just above the elbow, carefully folding back the cloth. The process was familiar and somehow strangely comforting. Slowly I traced the pattern of old scars along my arm with my forefinger. That dagger, specially made just for me had seen its fair share of use, I reached for it again never once taking my eyes off my arm. I gripped the handle tightly feeling its cool weight in my hand, its precense was reassuring. Then slowly bringing it closer and closer to my arm until the blade rested lightly on my skin. Swiftly now, applying a slight pressure I drew the blade aross my arm, and again. I only meant to create a slight pain to release the hurt and confusion that was building up inside my chest, but I was suddenly out of control and my hand seemed to work of its own accord: cutting and cutting. Catching sight of the blood trickilng down to my wrist and soaking into my leg I stopped, gasping for breath. There shouldn't be that much blood, it was only a few stratches. But the stratches looked more like deep gashes and a few appeared to be more like 15 or 16. I felt sick but I couldn't move I just sat that gazing intently at what I'd done to myself. Then a noise made me look up, Harry Potter was standing in the doorway, a determined look on his face.  
  
He asked me why, I told him I had to let the pain out, I was hurting so much. "Why" he asked meagain. That word, always that word. The one question I didn't really know the answer to. I started talking... 


	5. Confessions and explanations

Disclaimer: They aren't mine, I'm making no money so don't sue me.  
  
If you read it pretty pretty please review and I'll love you forever  
  
Confessions (and explanations) (Draco's POV)  
  
...I started talking, just saying everything that had been worrying me, all the stuff that made me hurt so bad.  
  
"I can't deal with it all anymore, I can't. It's not just the dark stuff and knowing that at any moment I could be killed. The war could start at any time. My father has already gone, he's chosen my fate. Its not just the fact that I'm having to keep secrets from my family and my friends. Its not just having to keep up with school work, and having to seem normal to everybody when all I really want is to curl up and hide until its gone away. Its the combination of everything, its too much.  
  
I want you to know Harry, that I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I've got it easy. My family may not be the nicest in the world but at least I have one. I may have to lie to my father, pretend I believe in what he stands for, and I have to tell my mother I'm happy when I'm not but they do love me. You don't have anyone.  
  
And you have to fight all the evil in the world singlehandedly. You have people to help but when it comes down to it you're the one who has to do the actual fighting. It's you Harry. You're the one that will change the world."  
  
He sat down on the table opposite me, and paused for a minute thinking. Then he answered me.  
  
"But I'll die doing that Draco.  
  
I know that now. I'm the one who has to destroy evil, and I'll die in the process but I need people around me, my friends, to make sure that I die fighting and that I don't give up. They need to make sure I dont die until after I fight, not before.  
  
I'll save the world yes, but I won't change it. It's people like you who'll do that. Everyone who's left will have a part to play, but it's people like you who'll make the biggest difference. You can break the family tradition of being evil and you can be good. Others like you can too.  
  
For years the Malfoys have been known as evil but its only because they were taught to believe that that was right. You have a chance to escape their expectations and you can fight for what you believe not what they want you to believe. It's up to you.  
  
And you should tell them what you really think, what it is you want to fight for. They may not agree but at least you'll have been honest. And just remember that every time you see them could be the last. If Voldemort doesn't kill them the Ministry will take them for sure. And unless you speak out no-one will know that you didn't stand for their beliefs too You could end up in Azkaban for the rest of your life if people don't realise you're fighting for the light."  
  
I asked him how he knew I didn't support Voldemort, he shrugged and said he could just tell from looking at me.  
  
"But if no one knows what you really stand form Draco you'll go to the dementors alongside your parents.  
  
Anyway; you're right, you do have it harder than me, all I have to do is give up my life, and as you've already pointed out I dont have much to live for. What you have to do is harder, you've got to keep going, and in this godforsaken world, where you know you might die and the people you love are betraying each other and nothing's certian its very hard to live. You've got to deal with the aftermath. People will die, people will have trials, innocent people will be locked up and guiltly men will walk free. But you'll have to get through all that confusion and rebuild the world.  
  
You have to live with yourself knowing you were a traitor. I'm lucky having no parents, there's no one I can let down, you have to betray them and that must be so very difficult. They gave you your life and what you do eith it could very well take theirs away from them. That can't be easy. I have all the family I need, all my friends are my family and they know what's going to happen and they're fighting with me not against me.  
  
If you crumble along with the world I'll never forgive myself. If you remain strong then the world will be strong with you. I want to be here with you, with everyone to make sure you're all ok, but I can't do that, I just have to hope you manage."  
  
He paused and looked down he seemd nervous now, what he wanted to say must have been hard for him to do. Then he he took a deep breath and looked up at me meeting my eye  
  
"I love you Draco Malfoy" 


	6. The Aftermath

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and the principle of the harry potter series, j.k. rowling and warner bros. and all those people do. Once again Professor Weaving owns me, and she is an OC.  
  
Having missed the window of opportunity for fic reading people (seeing that it's after June 21, so no one needs extra reading material) I doubt anyone will even be hereto ignore this but nonetheless it hasn't stopped me before, so I shall enter my usual plea of "please review!" and offer a cookie to everyone who does *holds out cookies*  
  
This chapter is dedicated to Karna Solskjaer, she has nothing to do with anything but she was born in march and I didn't find out 'til this week (which makes me a terrible person) but anyway she's the daughter of Ole Gunnar Solskjaer (the footballer) and I'm sure she's lovely, and because I feel guilty for not knowing she was born I feel obliged to recognise her here :-)  
  
well folks here it is...  
  
The Aftermath (Draco's POV)  
  
I didn't know what to say in response and my head started to spin. But it took me a moment to realise that this was mainly because of blood loss. I glanced down at my arm again and I was shocked, I had never seen that much blood in my life. For a second I just sat staring, I was terrified I knew I could die, and I didn't want that, not really. The thought shook me to my core and I let out a dry, panicked sob. The enormity of what I had done to myself was too much to bear.  
  
I suspect that Harry would have let me sit there and bleed to death until he realised it wasn't what I wanted, the sheer terror that must have been stamped across my face jerked him into save-the-world mode.  
  
"You need to go to the hospital wing. Can you walk?"  
  
"I can't go there, they'll think I'm mad. They'll want explanations and the whole school will find out, they'll even tell my parents." I hadn't wanted to talk about my parents any more than I already had, but I was weak and shaking and any way I could convince Harry not to take me to the hospital wing was good.  
  
I don't know why he didn't go straight for Madam Pomfrey, or any teacher. I could have died but he still respected what I wanted. Ducking under my good arm, with his arm locked round my waist he half lead, half dragged me along corridor after corridor for what seemed like ages, while I felt myself growing weaker, everything seemed to be slipping in and out of focus and I felt very very tired.  
  
Eventually we stopped outside a door, which I knew I recognised, but in that state I couldn't for the life of me fathom why.  
  
"What's the password?" Harry's voice sounded faint and far away; and for some reason the situation seemed suddenly hilarious and I started to giggle. Harry gave me a rough shake. "Come on Draco, shut up or someone will come, they'll think I'm trying to kill you or something! What's the password to the bathroom, you're a prefect you must know" I heard myself mutter 'toilet duck' through the giggles but it sounded odd -as if it wasn't me talking but someone else far away. The door opened then I suppose because I felt Harry pulling me along again. Then I passed out.  
  
When I awoke I was lying on the floor on my side, something soft was under my head as a pillow and I could feel the weight of several cloaks piled on top of me. Hushed voices were coming from somewhere close by.  
  
"I've stopped the bleeding the best I can, and that potion should revive him, but those cuts need cleaned and bandaged, and the amount of blood he's lost is critical. He needs to be in the hospital wing. He needs proper help."  
  
"I know," a harsh voice cut across the worried female one "I'll take him down soon but he asked not to go, I have to help him Hermione, I'll take him when I can persuade him he needs to go, just give me a chance." There was a desperate edge in his voice. Hermione sighed, and she sounded as if she'd really rather not be there making that decision.  
  
"Fine, fine, but if he isn't there in half an hour I'm going to tell Professor McGonagall what you've done and that you forced me to help you and to keep quiet" with that she turned and left, and once more I was alone with Harry.  
  
Attempting to push myself into a sitting position pain shot through my arm and my head swan horribly with the movement. For a moment I was sure I would either faint again or be sick but in a split second Harry was at my side supporting my weight. I squeezed my eyes shut until the spinning stopped but when I opened them again everything was still blurry, and I was still a bit dizzy. The last hour came flooding back to me, everything I had done, and what had been said in the potions classroom. I turned to Harry bursting with questions, but when I met his gaze I found myself speechless. There was something in the way he was looking at me that I'll never forget. That quality, the mysterious emotion that shone through the intense green still haunts me to this day. No one else in the entire world has ever looked at me with quite such an expression on their face.  
  
It was the sheer intensity that got me, the way pure hatred somehow managed to blend in with a love that must have pierced his heart. The way he looked terrified, but I've never seen anyone look so calm. And the way his worry and pity for me seemed to be matched almost exactly with the true happiness he felt because he was with me. God only knows how he could manage to feel so many emotions and not burst. I have difficulty managing just 2 or 3 emotions, hence the self-harm.  
  
Slowly he raised a hand and gently touched the side of my face, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear, all the time watching me with those eyes. Then ever so gently, so tenderly he kissed me lightly finally closing his eyes so I didn't have to watch his soul any longer.  
  
I blame the blood loss for me not running away in horror, and I found myself kissing him back in that same gentle way. I had never kissed nor been kissed quite so tenderly in all my life. Kissed as though the person loved me more than they loved themselves.  
  
Inside my chest my heart exploded.  
  
All my life really I had stored away my pain, I was the secretive type. And I had parents who thought that their duties stretched to plying me with lavish gifts. I knew my mother loved me but that's all she was, a mother, she could never be a mum. It's the price you pay for being rich.  
  
All those years I had bottled up my worries and my hurt. Even my hopes and ambitions had to be kept where no one could get to them so no one could destroy them. It was as if Harry had taken that bottle and smashed it inside me. The shards of glass impaling my heart and my lungs, making my breath catch in my chest. All the years worth of pain coursed through my veins wreaking havoc. I pulled away from him crying. Raw emotion took over me and my body was racked with sobs, tears coursing down my cheeks. Harry didn't seem to know what to do, he'd broken the unbreakable indifference that makes a Malfoy. He tired to pull me to my feet saying something about Hospital. A knock at the door made him freeze.  
  
"Are you OK?" It was Professor Weaving's voice. She must have heard me crying as she passed. Actually I'm surprised the whole school couldn't hear me. Of course I was crying too hard to be able to answer her and Harry was looking like a rabbit in the headlights so she knocked again. Getting no response she muttered the teachers' password and pushed open the door.  
  
Harry instinctively drooped my arm and took a step back, wanting no doubt to separate himself from me and my injuries. Professor Weaving ignored him and spoke to me instead.  
  
"What happened to your arm?" I managed to gasp that I had cut it and she nodded. "Potter go to the hospital wing, bring Madam Pomfrey here. Now." He hesitated for a moment then sighed and hurried out the room. I wanted to explain to her that I didn't want any fuss, that I just wanted to be left alone. It seemed so much easier to let her take care of it all though, so I buried my face in my knees and cried my heart out while she crouched next to me with a supportive hand on my shoulder until the matron arrived. 


	7. It'll Be OK

Disclaimer: As with every other chapter they aren't mine I'm just borrowing them. A/N: if you read please review, it's only polite :-) This chapter is for Tony and Rachel for putting up with my self-pity.  
  
It'll be OK (Hermione's POV)  
  
I visited Draco in the hospital wing the next evening. His arm was neatly bandaged and he was only being kept in to recover from the blood loss, he had a very lucky escape.  
  
I entered the room quietly, Madam Pomfrey glanced over but didn't say anything. He was staring at the ceiling when I approached him. At first I didn't think he'd heard me come in but as I got the foot of his bed he greeted me and asked why I was there.  
  
"Just to see how you are, and how you're feeling" I told him, which was after all exactly why I was there.  
  
"He said he loved me"  
  
"I know, he told me everything. He's avoiding you now. He says he isn't of course but I can tell. He's scared of how you'll react when you're feeling better."  
  
"I don't mind," Draco sat up at this point. "To be honest it's quite flattering" He offered me a wry grin then looked down at his bandaged arm thoughtfully. "What have I done to myself?" he sighed. There was long pause while Draco watched his am and I watched him. After a while he spoke again, but quietly now. "Can you give Harry a message for me?" I nodded, "Tell him what I said about not minding, and that he's very pretty and lovely and all but that I'm seeing someone else. Can you do that" Again I nodded,  
  
"Male or female?" I asked, he grinned.  
  
"That would be telling"  
  
I paused to consider him for a moment. "You're not seeing anyone at all are you?" he shook his head,  
  
"Not really, she thinks I am but nothing's ever been said. She just reckons she owns me I think," I understood then, Pansy Parkinson "oh if only I could see her face if she knew what happened last night" He grinned again, this time I didn't understand.  
  
"What do you mean? What happened?" A look of astonishment passed over Draco's face as he realised Harry hadn't quite told me everything.  
  
"Well I hate to be the one to break it to you, but perfect Potter isn't quite as innocent as you'd like to believe, " The note of scathing that I was used to hearing in his voice was starting to reappear, for a moment I wondered if it had all been some trick and he was the same old Draco Malfoy hurting people at every opportunity. "-He's not adverse to taking advantage of a dying man" He grinned again at this, blushing slightly, and I knew it was ok after all. This leopard's spots weren't changing back any time soon.  
  
"Actually," I told him "Harry did tell me to remind you something. He said I was to tell you not to forget everything else he said, especially about your family" He looked away again, and a slow comprehension dawned.  
  
"I've got to hold on tight to what I believe in. I have to fight for myself not for them. Tell Harry it'll be ok, I understand now"  
  
I nodded, and left the hospital wing to pass on the message. Draco Malfoy had his epiphany, he knew now that he could break free from all he'd been brought up with. It was his own choice and no one else's. 


	8. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I don't own them. They're someone else's, except Aeryn Weaving, she owns me.  
  
Please review.  
  
Epilogue (Draco's POV)  
  
So that was that. I fought alongside Dumbledore and Potter and the others. I sacrificed my family and everything I had been brought up with because I learnt that I had a choice. The choice to stand up for what I believe, not what I'm told to believe.  
  
That's what Harry Potter taught me. And when the final battle came I fought against Lucius, and I couldn't call him my father. My mother was against me too. It grieved me knowing that however much I begged and pleaded with her she would stay faithful to her husband, all because she loved him. She couldn't betray him because she loved him more than she loved herself. So she died for him and his cause. She was by his side until the very last. My only comfort was knowing that she would not have to face any punishment for everything she'd already done, and at least if they were dead I wouldn't have to give evidence against them to the Ministry. I don't know if I could have spoken out knowing that my words would be her doom.  
  
Harry was right of course; he died like he said he would. I cried, I stood in the middle of all the carnage and slaughter and cried because this boy who loved me could never hear me say thank you. He saved my life, and I couldn't even do him the courtesy of loving him back. Sometimes I think that maybe he wanted to die though. Or perhaps it was just something he never thought about, he died because that's what he had to do. In doing so he saved the world. Now we're changing it. Hermione as been a great help to me ever since. She persuaded Ron to let me be best man at their wedding, though everyone present knew it should have been Harry Potter. It must have been difficult for Ron for that very reason, and especially because of the way I'd behaved in the past. But he was willing to make an effort and in time he learnt to trust me. Even to the point of getting me to be Godfather to their son Fergus. Its an old Irish name, it means man and choice, I think Hermione chose that name on purpose, to remind me what I learnt.  
  
So pretty much everyone lived happily ever after. Yes a lot of people died, people were betrayed and families torn apart. But new families were made, the kind you choose not the one's you are given. Hogwarts still teaches witchcraft and wizardry, though Minerva McGonagall is headteacher now. As far as I know Snape is still teaching Potions and wanting to teach Defence Against The Dark Arts, Aeryn Weaving is still teaching Defence and pissing Snape off, and the Slytherins and Gryffindors still hate each other. Life goes on. And with every day that passes I feel a little happier. The world's problems will never stop, and there's not a day goes by when no one thinks of the terrors of the past. But despite all that I'm happy.  
  
To think, one day 10 years ago I was lying bleeding to death on the floor of a prefects' bathroom, and that without Harry Potter and of course Professor Weaving, I would probably have died. Professor Weaving should get a mention I suppose, she's engaged to be married to Remus Lupin, apparently he proposed to her in the middle of the Great Hall because she accused him of being ashamed and keeping their relationship a secret. She's very lucky having someone love her that much.  
  
I hope they're happy though. Sometimes love isn't good; it compromises people's choices. It makes people believe they are no longer able to do things for themselves, and perhaps they're not. Love can be your downfall. I wouldn't know because I've never loved anyone that much.  
  
But I do know that I can make my own choices.  
  
----  
  
THEEND! (it's a bit sad really, finally reaching the end and still having pathetically few reviews, like the end of an era but without enough rewards) If you read this far it's only common courtesy to review. I have another fic in the works to put up soon (which has already been on fiction alley) but I have to type and post my friend's PotC fic first so it could be a long time coming  
  
Drae xx 


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